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"Aw Come. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. . Sheppard now directed her steps. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself.
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